


Through the Looking Glass

by junevirginia



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Case Fic, Chloe Decker Finds Out, Eventual Romance, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Themes of Sexual Assault, POV Chloe Decker, Period Piece, Protective Lucifer, Set During Season Three, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Unknown Date and Location
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:34:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junevirginia/pseuds/junevirginia
Summary: “Detective, we’recertainlynot in Los Angeles.”“We could be. It could be a film set.”“Do you see any cameras?”While working on a bizarre case, Chloe and Lucifer find themselves thrown back in time. But what time? And where? They need to follow the path of their victim, while adjusting to the immemorial world into which they've been dropped.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 201
Kudos: 263





	1. We're Not in Kansas Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! And welcome to this journey! If you like _Lucifer_ and period pieces, I hope you'll like this. A touch of mystery. At some point, a whole cup full of romance. Adjusting to a different time. Corsets and mugs of ale! 
> 
> If you read and enjoy, please consider leaving a comment. I love hearing from you.
> 
> Thank you!

Chloe slaps a pile of crime scene photos onto the glass conference table, affectively spooking Lucifer out of staring at the one single spot on the wall he’s been focused on for the last five minutes. She hadn’t noticed, too engrossed in the case spread out before them.

Lucifer reaches into the breast pocket of his dark green suit to retrieve his flask. For once, this little quirk doesn’t frustrate Chloe. It’s after eleven and she’s basically kidnapped him, so if he wants a drink, she won’t complain.

“We’re missing something.”

Lucifer chuckles. “Obviously. We’ve been at this for hours.” He takes a sip. 

For once, he offers her his flask, leaning across the table and stretching a long arm towards her.

He wags his hand. “Come on, Detective. It’s just you and me here.”

He’s right. Mostly everyone else left hours ago, save for Officer Pritchard, who’s manning the phones, and Officer Galivan, who pulled the short straw for nighttime desk duty this week. Normally, even if the place were completely empty, Chloe wouldn’t be so irresponsible, but c’est la vie. She takes the flask from his hand and wraps her lips around the spout. She tastes the whiskey and is instantly on the beach kissing him again.

It’s been a year and yet that kiss has lingered in her mind.

She hands back the flask.

Lucifer stands and crosses the room in one direction and then the other, as if to spring his muscles back to life. Chloe watches him idly. 

“What’s bothering you?” he asks.

“The crime scene,” she says easily. She leans forward to press her elbows into the table. “Frank Reynolds left Matt Khan’s house at eight. Frank returns at ten, but Matt claims he doesn’t know why. Matt opens the door and, without any discernible reason—no obvious injuries, no drugs in his system, nothing even remotely naturally occurring—Frank is dead on Matt’s welcome mat. The crime scene was pristine, but not like Matt had cleaned it. Matt has no priors, neither did Frank. And they were new friends. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Lucifer turns to stare at the case board. Chloe picks up the crime scene photos again and instead of really focusing her eye, she allows her gaze to just sort of skirt across the images. 

She’s used to being stuck on a case. There’s always this period where Chloe feels like they’ll never figure it out, although she does have the best close rate in the department. It’s a hopeless feeling, and she hates it, and right now, it could very well swallow her up.

“Has forensics turned the house back over to Mr. Khan?”

Chloe glances up. “No.”

She can see the wheels turning in Lucifer’s head. He didn’t even look at her to ask his question, which means he’s focused in. He’s trying to see, just like she is. They think differently, but even from the start, Chloe saw his way of thinking as an asset. He’s not formally trained. He hasn’t sat through seminars on prioritizing mental health help over waving a gun in someone’s face or what to do when some is armed, dangerous, and scared. But he naturally adjusts. She’s never seen someone so easily understand the nuances of a situation. 

His desire schtick certainly helps.

But Chloe trusts that when his wheels are turning, he’s going to have a solution. Perhaps not one that leads to solving the case—not yet—but it will lead to something.

“We should head back to the scene.”

She’s doesn’t disagree, but she asks, “What are you seeing?”

“Here.” He holds his finger pressed to one of the images tacked onto the board.

Chloe pushes back in her seat and stands, crossing the room. She stands next to Lucifer and leans in close, practically pressing her nose to the glossy surface, but she’s not sure what she sees. It’s a big heavy-looking book on the coffee table, an imagine taken of the full living room. Matt Khan has…eclectic taste with gargoyle statues and old, dusty books, and little trinkets everywhere. Ella had been in “nerd heaven,” as she’d called it. On top of the book in the photo, is some sphere suspended in a glass dome. She’d seen it when they were there, but there was too much to look at to linger for too long.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “What am I looking at?”

Lucifer shakes his head and sinks his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know, but aren’t you curious?”

Her eyes meet his and he’s smirking. Her lips turn up.

“Pierce told us to keep away from the scene until tomorrow.”

Lucifer turns to face her head-on. Firm shoulders, a puff of pride in his chest. “Yes, but why? Since when does our good lieutenant quarantine off a crime scene without so much as an explanation? He simply said”—Lucifer changes his voice, doing an awful Pierce impression—“‘no one in or out until tomorrow. No questions, no excuses.’ He’s like a dictator.”

Chloe doesn’t want to go against Pierce, especially since they’ve grown closer lately and he actually seems to be respecting her, but she also can’t deny that Lucifer is right. No lieutenant she’s ever served under has just blanket statement barred them from a crime scene without reason. It’s suspicious.

“What do you say, Detective? Shall we enjoy a little clandestine crime scene rendezvous?”

She can’t deny that when he’s excited like this, it’s infectious. Chloe finds herself easily swayed. With a quick nod, Lucifer’s already on the move. “Shall we change into something more black ops? Perhaps, well, all black? If we could—”

“We’re not changing. We’re not swinging by your penthouse”—knowing that’s where he was going with his next statement, which she interrupted—“and we’re not passing go. You’re driving because it won’t look as suspicious as my cruiser. But, Lucifer,” she reaches out to stop him from moving. She holds a finger up, pointing into his face, “Not a word of this to anyone, especially not Pierce.”

“Why would I tell Pierce?” he seems genuinely surprised at the accusation.

Chloe waves her hands in front of her as she says, “Because of this _thing_ you two are doing. Your stupid pissing match. I’m not interested, okay? I’m doing this because I think there’s something there, but I don’t want to have Pierce riding me about it.”

“Oof, I think _most_ women wouldn’t want Marcus Pierce _riding_ them.”

“Lucifer,” she groans.

He simply grins. “Come along, Detective. I won’t utter a word, I promise,” he adds, which placates her.

* * *

Matt Khan’s neighborhood is quiet as evening stretches into early morning. Lucifer pulls his Corvette up to the curb, cutting the engine to keep curious neighbors from peeking through parted curtains. Neither Chloe nor Lucifer jump up to get to it, but instead linger in his car.

Chloe looks around.

“Looking for Pierce?” Lucifer asks.

She nods, laughing a little, quietly. “Am I crazy?”

“No, he is. He would be camping the crime scene.” Lucifer drops the steering wheel. “Perhaps my unique classic car wasn’t the _best_ idea if we wanted to go incognito.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

Chloe nods towards the house. “Come on, let’s just go.”

Lucifer nods and follows her.

Chloe doesn’t often need to return to a crime scene, but she’s never felt like a criminal doing so—cloaked in darkness, soft whispers, checking over shoulders. She and Lucifer walk up the front path, her shoes clicking on the concrete. Chloe cringes and shifts to walking on her toes. She feels Lucifer’s hand on the base of her spine as they reach the front door. Chloe unlocks the key lockbox with the code Pierce provided (his first mistake) and then unlocks the front door.

They shut the door behind them and then wait. They listen to the silence of the house. Chloe glances at Lucifer. He’s dropped his hand from touching her, but the feeling lingers. He meets her gaze and holds it for one beat, then two, then…he looks away. Nothing. The house is quiet and yet he waits until she breaks the silence. “I think we’re good.”

He nods. “Agreed.” 

Chloe pulls out two sets of gloves, but Lucifer scoffs. “Please.”

She pulls on her own set. “Don’t touch anything.”

He holds up his hands and flutters his fingers. “Of course, Detective.”

Chloe and Lucifer move through the house. They could revisit every room, every item, but Chloe wants to spend as little time as possible within these haunted walls. Lucifer holds up a flashlight, which makes Chloe do a double take. “Where is that from?”

“Miss Lopez.”

She tries to remember when Lucifer would’ve had to chance to grab said flashlight, but she realizes she doesn’t want to know. She does appreciate his foresight, though.

In the living room, the dusty book and sphere are exactly where they were in the photograph, except there’s no longer a dome protecting the sphere. Chloe does remember seeing it earlier, but without the distraction of everything else in the room, she’s able to see that something inside the sphere is moving. “What the…”

“It’s like the memory orbs in _Harry Potter_.”

Her head whips to the side so she can look at him. “What?”

Lucifer seems unfazed. “In the movie, the phoenix one. All the kids go to this hall of memories and there’s blue or white smoke inside spheres. That’s what it looks like.”

Chloe remembers the first evening they watched a movie after game night, which Trixie picked, and instantly Lucifer was engaged, ready for the next one. Eight game nights, eight movies, and yet, a few months later, he still remembers a single scene. He glances at her. “Am I wrong?”

“No. You’re not wrong. But that was a movie.”

“Movies sometimes have a basis in truth.”

“Are you saying _Harry Potter_ is non-fiction?”

Lucifer points towards the sphere with his flashlight. “No, but you’re seeing what I’m seeing. Do you have an explanation for that?”

Chloe resigns herself. “No, I don’t.”

They walk around the table. Lucifer sets up the flashlight so its beam is pointed towards the ceiling, bathing the odd room in light. Chloe tries to read the cover of the book beneath the sphere, but it’s in another language. She points and asks Lucifer, “What is that?”

He leans in close. “Hm, hard to tell. I’m not sure it’s a modern language.”

“You’ve never seen it?”

“Possibly not. But again, I can speak every language, but not write or read them. Even the Devil has his limitations.”

Chloe tries not to read too much into another one of his stories.

There’s a sound somewhere upstairs—a shuffling, maybe. It’s short and quick, but they both perk up and go quiet. Chloe holds her breath so she can really listen. She tips her eyes to the ceiling, waiting on literal bated breath, but nothing more happens. It’s just quiet. 

Lucifer breaks the silence. “Does Mr. Khan have a dog?”

“No. Do you think we should go look?”

“I’ll go. I’ll be but a minute.”

She reaches out to touch his arm. “Don’t be a hero, okay?”

“I’m not the hero, Detective,” he says cryptically, before leaving her alone in the room.

Chloe has a weird feeling as she settles into the room. First, it’s late and dark, so that adds to the eerie vibe, but it’s the same feeling she had earlier as she stared down at the crime scene photos in the clinically lit conference room. Something strange is going on here. And now, there’s some blue sphere that has moving smoke—water?—it’s hard to tell—inside. And for some reason, she wants to touch it.

Upstairs, she hears Lucifer’s steps. The floorboards creak in the old house, which just adds to the ambience. Chloe picks up the flashlight and does a turnabout the room. She looks over the other books Matt keeps—history of ancient words, ancient languages—books on flora and fauna—eastern medicines. The man is clearly a learner and a collector of…oddities. She looks away from the taxidermized owl resting on the fireplace mantel because it looks like it can see into her.

Lucifer walks down the steps and rejoins her. “Nothing,” he says, before his eyes land on the sphere. 

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

He shakes his head, lost in thought, but utterly focused. “I think we’re in over our heads.”

Chloe sweeps the flashlight back to the book and the orb. The flashlight blocks out the full blue of the smoke inside, but it’s just as mysterious. “Who wouldn’t be in over their head?”

“Mr. Khan.”

“We should talk to him again,” Chloe decides.

Lucifer nods, but his eyes are still laser focused.

Chloe touches his arm and she feels his muscles tighten beneath her fingertips. “Hey,” she whispers to him. “Lucifer.” She runs her hand along his arm, trying to reign him in. He won’t even blink. Chloe shifts, moving into his line-of-sight, but he doesn’t break. She felt the pull from the sphere, but not like this. It’s like he’s been possessed. “Lucifer,” she tries again, her hands on his chest now. She takes him by the shoulders and shakes him. “Lucifer.”

He blinks, but then stares again. His mouth motionless. His jaw tenses. Chloe reaches up, cupping his jaw on either side. “Lucifer!” She can’t help but notice how desperate her voice sounds. She’s scared for him. She forces his face, makes him look away, but he resists. She tries hard, but he’s unyielding. She steps closer to press against him, trying anything. Desperate. “Lucifer!” She yells now.

His eyes snap to hers.

“Wh—”

“Sorry, Detective, were you saying something?”

She drops her hands from his skin. “What the hell was that?”

“What was what, Detective?”

Chloe feels insane. He looks around the room now, his hands in his pockets. “Hm. Such an odd man.” She trails him walking around, but he’s absolutely unfazed. She shakes her head, trying to shake the voice in her head telling her she’s losing it. Allowing the house and the case affect her.

She turns away from Lucifer, suddenly feeling alone in the mystery. And she, too, notices the sphere and all at once, she’s focused on the gas. It’s not like before. It’s a pulling in her eyes, her chest, her stomach. She _needs_ to look at it. It’s beautiful and calming. Nothing matters. It’s good and it makes her feel warm. She wonders what it feels like. Warm, she’d hope. Or maybe bitterly cold. Either way, it’ll burn her fingers, but she still desires to feel.

In the distance, she hears a noise, but it’s not the sphere, so she doesn’t pay attention. She feels safe. Surrounded by love and protection. Just one little touch.

_“Pierce?”_ a voice says close to her ear.

She now feels someone touching her.

_“Detective!”_

Chloe reaches forward. The wind pulls on her arm, but she can’t stop. 

It’s going to be warm; she knows it.

“I have to,” she whispers to herself and then she touches.

It’s cold.

* * *

Chloe groans. She hurts. She flexes her toes and her feet feel okay, but a pain runs up her leg and through her back. It’s sharp and nearly tactile. It’s a lightning bolt through her spine. She wiggles her fingers next and luckily, nothing. No pain, no relief. Just…fingers on grass. She’s touching grass. It’s cool against her fingers.

When she blinks her eyes open, she can see the blue sky. The sun hangs low in the sky. It could be rising or setting; she’d have no idea.

No doesn’t know where she is. 

She turns in the grass and spots a river. _This isn’t L.A._ Everything is so lush and green. The grass may be cool and damp, but the air is warming, shaking off the chill of the night, maybe? Above, birds fly by, jumping from one tree to the next. Playing and chirping, oblivious to her lying beneath their trees. Chloe wants to focus on the birds and the sun and the sky, because thinking any further than that makes her nervous.

“Chloe.”

She turns fast and watches as Lucifer begins to sit up.

“Lucif—where are we?” she interrupts herself.

He’s close enough to touch and touch she does. She reaches for his forearm to be sure he’s truly there. Alive and not just a figment of her imagination. He’s solid beneath her touch and she’s instantly calmed. He looks around, too, seemingly just as confused.

“I’m not sure.” Lucifer’s eyes focus on hers. “Are you okay?”

Chloe nods. She doesn’t mention the pain in her leg since she no longer feels it. “I’m good. You?”

“Mm,” he says, noncommittal.

He begins to stand, pushing up on his knees and unfurling above her. He’s impressive at this angle—tall and intimidating. But then, he offers her a hand. He gently helps her stand and the pain in her leg is back. She winces. “What’s wrong?”

Chloe leans into him as he holds her up, his eyes sweeping across her body to find the location of the pain. She puts all her weight on her left leg. She holds out her foot. “It’s not bad,” she admits. “It just feels like I maybe sprained something.”

Lucifer drops down in front of her, instantly a worried mother. He looks up at her for consent and she nods. He gingerly takes her calf in his one hand while the other prods at her ankle. Through her boot, he twists it one way and then the other and she hisses through her teeth. “Yup, that’s it,” she says, strained. “It doesn’t feel like a break. I think I would know.”

“We should get you to a doctor, just in case. Perhaps Linda.”

“She’s told you to stop bothering her with _medical_ cases.”

Lucifer waves his hand in the air, his sharp eyes looking around them again as he stands. He offers himself to her, wrapping his arm around her back. She leans into him. “I don’t think this is Southern California.”

“Me, neither.”

“It’s like we’ve been transported.”

“But _how_?”

His eyes snap to her. “You don’t remember?”

Chloe looks up at him and she feels her eyes widening. “No. You do?”

He adjusts her next to him. “Come on, let’s see if we can make it up this slope and see what we can see. I’ll tell you along the way. If you think you can walk, that is. I can carry you.”

She nods. She needs to try, although, she’s a little put off by the slope. Normally, no big deal—a tiny hill in the woods. But with a pained ankle, the slope seems like Mount Everest. Lucifer allows her to lean most of her weight into him, so it’s much less a climb than a carry. She’s not complaining.

“We were in Matt Khan’s house. Do you remember that?”

She can see the taxidermized owl. “Yes.”

“Do you remember the blue sphere?”

Chloe feels a flush of warmth from the inside out, like she’s been set on fire. “Yes.”

“Do you remember touching it?”

She sifts through, but only remembers the warmth. The need. She does remember _needing_ to touch it, but not actually following through. As a rule, Chloe never touches anything on a crime scene unless necessary, so there’d be no need to touch some glowing sphere. Unless she suspected it was covered in DNA. But she doesn’t remember any signs of DNA. Plus, Ella and her team are thorough and wouldn’t leave anything vital behind.

She steps on her ankle, which doesn’t feel as bad as they move. “No. I touched it?”

“Yes, and then we both woke up here.”

Chloe looks down and she’s still wearing her evidence gloves. 

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know.”

As they climb higher, nearing the top, Lucifer is now basically carrying her. The incline is steeper than it appeared down low, so he relieves her of the duty of walking. He isn’t winded in the slightest, but Chloe pulls in tired gasps through her teeth. She wonders if he were carrying her, if he’d be winded, but she assumes not. 

At the top, Chloe catches her breath while she looks around, but she needn’t look too far. Ahead of them is an old stone house. Small, but pretty. The stones are worn and covered in ivy, which makes Chloe worried about the whole thing. There’s no way some place so old is habitab— And then a woman walks out, dressed in something out of an old Victorian novel. She wears her hair tied back and she has a basket on her hip. Chloe now notices the chickens in the muddied yard, which scatter as the woman shoos them.

Beside her, Lucifer makes a sound. Or maybe says something. She’s too confused to really hear.

“What?” she asks.

He doesn’t look away. “Detective, we’re _certainly_ not in Los Angeles.”

She shakes her head. “We could be. It could be a film set.”

Lucifer looks at her now. “Do you see any cameras?”

Chloe stares at the woman and the house and everything. It’s quiet. So very quiet. Not a plane in the sky. No traffic in the distance. Just the woman humming to herself, something old and jaunty. Like a folk song. The air smells of fallen leaves and farm animals. Earthy. Untouched. And the woman is unbothered. Hanging clothes that match hers—old and ornate—across a rope line. It’s like she’s from another time.

_Because she is._

Chloe looks to Lucifer. “ _When_ are we?”

He doesn’t say a word.


	2. East of Eden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments on the first chapter. I'm so glad you're excited. I know a lot of people are thrilled with the time travel aspect and I can't wait to share more of that--the mystery of why, how. All of it!
> 
> They'll be a lot of lore about the time period they've been dropped into, lore of time travel itself, but I'm also using this story as a sort of snow globe look at Lucifer and Chloe's relationship in the later part of season three. They were moving towards a relationship and if not for Pierce (ew) or Chloe seeing Lucifer's face in the way she did, they might've gotten there quicker. I wanted to establish a different way--more mature, maybe--of the two of them finally admitting those feelings. I hope you enjoy the balance of time travel craziness and just some good old #Deckerstar.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I'll love you forever if you comment or send me a little kudo. I appreciate it!

Lucifer scours the woods for any clues or ways to transport them back to their time, while Chloe watches from her perch on the top of the hill. She’s useless. Her ankle feels fine when she’s sitting but one hill and she’s done in.

She can’t stop thinking of Trixie. She’s still sleeping, completely oblivious that her mom has been sent through time, but Chloe’s head pounds with the thought that in a few hours, someone’s going to know she’s missing. Did she leave anything behind at the crime scene? Lucifer’s car is still parked out front, which will be noticed by her fellow officers. By Pierce, at least.

_“Pierce.”_

She’d heard Lucifer right before she’s touched the orb. It comes back slowly—dark at first, but then bright with truth. He’d said Pierce’s name.

Lucifer is out of her line of sight, which sits uneasily in her stomach, but she can still hear him rifling around in the heavy brush below. She wants to call out to him, but for the moment, they’ve agreed to lie low. He hopes he can find something and—poof!—they’re back where they belong and this hour in God knows _what_ time period will be a joke they tell at parties. But in the moment, and as the minutes tick by, it’s not feeling much like a joke.

Chloe can’t really remember touching the orb. She remembers trying to distract Lucifer from it and she remembers the haunting blue swirls inside, but actually touching it…no. She’s blank. 

Logic seems to have fallen through its own rabbit hole, because Chloe can’t piece anything together without suspending all reason and going over the strange facts she knows. She was working a case with a mysterious death. Her lieutenant had banned them from the crime scene, but she and Lucifer had ignored those orders. Matt Khan, the suspect, collected oddities, one of which being some orb right out of a fantasy novel and Chloe touched it, leaving her and Lucifer in some _Outlander_ situation.

But it’s ridiculous.

Time travel does not exist.

Lucifer finally appears from the bushes. He looks a little worse for the wear, his hair curling against the product he’d styled with this morning, and a large smudge of something staining his white shirt. His shirt probably costs more than her entire outfit, including her high-quality boots. 

She knows how he always has every hair in place, so she doesn’t mention his appearance. 

He still looks good, after all.

She shakes the thought away. “Find anything?” she asks hopeful but already knows the answer.

Lucifer, becoming one with nature suddenly, plops down beside her with a sigh. “My flask,” he says affectionately, pulling said flash from his breast pocket. “But nothing else.”

Chloe suddenly remembers, “My phone!” She lifts her butt and feels the weight of her phone in her back pocket. She’s so used to the feeling, that she hadn’t thought of it before. She pulls it out and instantly tries to turn it on. Lucifer seems uninterested. “What the hell?” she asks the offending device, using her finger to unlock it, even trying to type a password into the screen, but the screen won’t light up.

Lucifer produces his phone and hands it over. “They don’t work.”

“Why not?”

“I’d assume because electricity hasn’t yet been invented.”

Chloe grips her phone in her hand. She swats Lucifer’s away into the grass. “Fuck.”

“Indeed.”

She looks over at him and he’s surprisingly calm. He takes a swig of alcohol, his eyes focused on something—or nothing—in the distance. From this vantage point, they can see across the treetops in the other direction. Much like the stone house behind them, there are houses dotted here and there with rolling fields and livestock surrounding each abode. They’re farms. To their right is a small town. Chloe looks fondly. Her stomach growls.

Lucifer hands her the flask.

“I can’t drink on an empty stomach.”

He nods. “You’ll dehydrate.”

“I’ll dehydrate faster if I drink alcohol.”

“Suit yourself.”

Lucifer is surprisingly down, even if he’s not panicking. She doesn’t like it. “Hey, what are you thinking?”

He repockets his flask. His long legs are stretch out before him. Lucifer doesn’t look at her, still focused on _something_ in the distance. She sees nothing of interest. “That’s south,” he says, nodding ahead.

“How do you know?”

“The sun.”

The sun is rising from their left, so that makes sense.

Lucifer continues, “I’m assuming we’re somewhere in Europe. Potentially early America, but there’s too many sheep. I can’t remember if sheep were staples of early settlers’ diets or not, but I’m leaning towards not. From the sheep, I’m assuming Britain or Ireland, but I’m not sure which country. It’s spring or early summer, based on the flowering trees. And, just based on the homes and the lifestyle, I’m thinking the Georgian period. Perhaps Stuart, but I can’t be quite sure. I’ll need more information to give you specifics, of course.”

Chloe tries to keep up. “How do you know all that?”

He finally turns to her. “You won’t believe me—think it’s another story or metaphor—but I’ve seen times like this.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re right; I don’t believe you.”

“But you trust me?”

Chloe meets his gaze. Even with his surmising, they know nothing. When, where, how, _why_? The why bothers her a lot. But when she looks at Lucifer, meets his dark gaze, sees the same questions in his eyes, she feels better. She’s not alone. He’s right beside her and Chloe trusts in him. Of course she does. “Yes, I trust you.”

Lucifer looks away and sighs. “Well, Detective, right mess we have here. We’re going to need to be proactive.”

“Proactive how?”

“I’m not seeing a way back. No stones to touch. No little vessel with a sign that reads: ‘Enter to return to 2018.’ We need information and I think that town”—he says of the one to the west—“is our best bet.”

The town is far away. Too far on Chloe’s ankle.

She shakes her head. “I can’t make that.”

“I’ve thought of that. As I see it, we have two options.” She turns her attention to him. “First, I show you my wings and we fly. I’m not thrilled with this option for a few reasons. Mainly, you’re going to freak out and, finally believing me on top of everything else, might put you into shock, which won’t be helpful.” Chloe tries not to react at all but _come on_. “The other option you won’t like as an officer of the law, but I’m afraid we might need to become thieves.”

“What?”

He chuckles. “No reaction to the wings, but thievery has you miffed.”

“Lucifer, thievery still has a basis in reality, no matter the century.”

“ _Your_ reality, perhaps, which, I’m sorry to say, is quite narrow.”

Chloe ignores the wing stuff. “I’m _not_ stealing.”

Lucifer shrugs. If not for the panic and the worry, this moment might be nice. The two of them sitting on some beautiful hillside with the birds flitting overhead and the floral scent of spring in the air. Chloe’s never imagined Lucifer anywhere but L.A. He fits there. Eccentric with all the devil stuff, wealthy without hiding it, and stylish. So deeply stylish with his perfect suits and perfect hair and smile that makes panties and boxers drop alike.

So sitting on this hill next to Mr. L.A. is strange but nice.

“Detective, we have no information. We need to survive.” He turns to her and out of respect, Chloe holds his gaze, but she’s not happy about even entertaining becoming criminals as soon as the going gets tough. “Have you thought about _why_ we’re here?”

She does look away, but in shame. “Because I touched the _Harry Potter_ orb.” 

That sounds like some sex joke.

“Kinky,” Lucifer says, not missing a beat.

“Lucifer…”

“Fine,” he agrees but is still grinning. “But that’s not to what I was referring. Matt Khan’s home was filled with nonsense. Frank Reynolds was a new friend. Perhaps the men weren’t _friends_ , but Frank was Matt’s _client_. Perhaps Matt Khan created the orb. Frank Reynolds might’ve wanted to time travel.”

Chloe laughs. “Seriously?”

“To what do you find most unagreeable in what I just said?”

They _can’t’ve_ time traveled. It doesn’t exist and if it does, then some random 20-something living in a shitty rental home on a bad street isn’t the key. But there are no planes. No roads. No telephone poles. Even without a newspaper with the recorded date, Chloe knows it in her bones that they’ve traveled to another time.

Chloe believes in Lucifer’s theory. Maybe she should believe more of what he tells her, but it’s one impossibility at a time.

She pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around. “Lucifer, Frank Reynolds just showed up and _died_. Do you think…?”

“I’d considered it, yes. I have a theory.”

“Does it involve sheep?” she asks, trying to lighten the mood.

He does offer her a smile, which seems genuine. “No sheep in my theory. We know Matt Khan has a power in his possession to time travel. Frank Reynolds finds out. Whether Mr. Khan advertises or it’s word of mouth, it doesn’t matter. But I’d imagine time travel isn’t like _Back to the Future_.” Chloe quirks her brow. “I saw the movie at a drive-in theater. The only way to truly appreciate its mastery.”

_Of course._

“What I’m trying to say, is you can’t just type in a few numbers and arrive to a set time and place. I’d imagine its finicky. Say Mr. Reynolds wanted to return to three years ago to prevent himself from cheating on his wife, perhaps Mr. Khan boasted that he could do that. Except he couldn’t and Mr. Reynolds landed in this time. Or even a different time. But he was hurt trying to find his way back. Perhaps we couldn’t see any visible injuries or explanations because Mr. Reynolds’ injuries didn’t _exist_ in the time he’d returned to, but it still killed him.”

Chloe tries to piece it all together. Basically, Lucifer thinks if they get hurt here, they might feel the repercussions in 2018. A chill runs down her spine.

“What if it’s the time travel that killed him?”

“I’d thought of that, too,” he agrees. “But it’d make sense for Mr. Khan to try time travel before offering it to others, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“And to me, he seemed in perfectly fine health.”

It’s a small, basically untested, wave of relief that slides through her veins, but it’s enough for the moment. She nods.

“Let’s say there’s only one destination. Here. In this time.” Chloe nods, keeping up easily now. “Frank Reynolds would’ve landed at the bottom of that hill. He would’ve walked up here to see what he could see, and he’d find the same town. It’d only make sense he’d head west, which is why I believe it maybe bring us some answers.”

“And you want to steal stuff to get there.”

Lucifer may bend the rules—even break a few—but he does respect the law. Mostly. Chloe knows this, but it doesn’t mean she respects him jumping ship into the pool of crime so soon. “I don’t _want_ to do any of this, Detective, but it’s a matter of self-preservation and keeping you safe.”

She looks at him. “Keeping me safe?”

Should she be concerned about her safety?

“No matter the year, we’re in a time where women have little freedoms. You were raised by strong parents to be strong; you work in a male-dominated industry and yet the room quiets when you speak. I doubt that’ll be your reality here, Detective.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“I’m not sure whether we’ll be here for a night or a year or forever”—her stomach drops—“but we can’t show vulnerability. I even worry about your strength.”

“My strength?”

Chloe doesn’t feel intensely strong. Strong-minded, maybe, but she could lift some more weights.

“You’re not a meek woman, Detective. It’s a strength in the time we live, but here, it’ll unnerve people. Men,” he corrects. “I could be very wrong. We could be in some progressive time which only looks Georgian, but if we’re in the 1700s, your strength could be mistaken for something wicked. Something”—he laughs—“something akin to bodily possession by the devil.”

Chloe can’t help but smirk. “You possessing me?”

“You may laugh now, but not so long ago, a woman of her own mind was dangerous and threatening. A problem needing taking care of.”

“Well, I don’t like the sound of that. What am I supposed to do?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’ve had some thoughts, but none that you’ll like.”

“I don’t like any of this, so you might as well tell me.”

Chloe’s never really considered the luxuries her decade of birth has afforded her. Sure, she’s read Jane Austen and one of the Brontë sisters (she thinks. _Wuthering Heights_ , maybe). She’s seen some of _Game of Thrones_. But Chloe’s never put herself in the characters’ shoes. She’s never considered what it might be like to be a woman with one purpose—find a man worth marrying. No wishes or desires outside a husband and babies. No, she wasn’t made for that sort of life and if it’s anything like the world she’s been dropped into, Lucifer might be right.

When he offers what he offers, she’s not surprised. “I think we’ll need to pretend to be married.”

What does surprise her is…his sadness. They’ve gone undercover before, which is exactly what this feels like, and yet he doesn’t seem thrilled. Chloe watches Lucifer as he reaches for his flask again. He sips slowly. He won’t look at her and it doesn’t make sense. 

“Okay,” she agrees.

“Really?”

“I just want to make it through this, Lucifer.”

He offers her his flask again and this time she takes it. In just a few hours, she’s drank after him twice, following his lips with hers. As she hands back the flask, her eyes trail to his lips. Her stomach tumbles and she looks away.

Lucifer sighs and pushes himself to stand. He looks around, surveying the world around them.

Chloe stands with the help of Lucifer’s hand.

She tests weight on her ankle.

“Okay?” he asks.

It stings, but it’s manageable. She nods and drops his hand. “Now what?”

“We need transportation.”

He says nothing more about the whole marriage situation, so she won’t push it.

“Should I call an Uber?”

Lucifer chuckles and gives her a look. _He’s back_. He looks towards the nearest stone house, the one with the woman from earlier. It’s been a couple of hours since she was out hanging the wash, but there’s no trace of anyone. Beyond the house are the stables. Chloe sees them and she knows Lucifer sees them. She can’t see how many, but there are at least a few horses.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve never done it.”

“It’s like riding a bicycle.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

Lucifer grins again and she can hear a snort of air as he laughs through his nose. He offers her his arm. She meets his dark eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Chloe.” He says it with so much conviction, she forgets. Forgets her fear. Her uncertainty. She takes his arm and follows him down the other side of the hill.

* * *

Chloe’s a horse thief. Lucifer’s a horse thief and a money thief.

They don’t have time to discuss any of it, using quiet whispers as they sneak around the house towards the stables. In the stables, they find a bedroll for possibly a farm hand or the horse carer. Chloe doesn’t know the words for any of it, but whoever it is must sleep out here in the warmer weather. But whoever he might be, he’s not around, but he’s trusting enough to leave a few coins in plain sight. Lucifer takes them; Chloe swats at his shoulder.

“I told you, Detective,” he whispers.

Doesn’t mean she likes it.

Next comes the horses. One a deep tan and the other black. Lucifer gravitates to the black one, which is significantly bigger. There are six horses in total, but only two dressed with reins, probably having been ridden earlier in the day. They have no saddles, which makes the whole prospect of riding a horse less appealing. 

Chloe stands nervously to the side while Lucifer greets the horses, patting them and speaking quietly to them. It’s a different look for him. She’s seen him on a horse before, but she never saw him truly interacting with the beast.

He takes the horses’ leads and walks them towards Chloe. She begins to panic.

“I can’t,” she whispers, ringing her hands before her.

“Nothing will happen, Detective.”

“Lucifer, I’m telling you, look how much I’m shaking.” Her hands are as wobbly as her legs.

He sighs and looks at the big horse. “Okay,” he says, making a decision. “We’ll ride together.”

Chloe’s not sure that’s the solution, but she doesn’t see any other way.

Lucifer ties the tan horse back to its post before returning to Chloe. The horse is too tall; she’d need a ladder to get up there. Before she can think too hard on the logistics, Lucifer’s hands wrap around her waist. He’s standing behind her and for a moment, a bolt of lightning strikes through her. His breath is beside her ear. “Alley-oop,” he whispers and lifts her up off the ground like she’s nothing more than a jug of milk. Naturally, her legs spread to accommodate the horse and suddenly she’s sitting there, as if she’s on the back of a Harley. Lucifer is graceful following her, pushing up off the ground to sit in front of her. He takes the reins.

Chloe stares into the middle of his back. He glances over his shoulder and she can see his smirk. 

“All good back there?”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“As you wish, although, you should probably hold on.”

For once, Chloe doesn’t question him. She wraps her arms around his waist and he kicks his heels into the sides of the horse and they’re off like a bullet. If anyone sees them stealing the horse, she and Lucifer probably wouldn’t hear the shouts because they’re already down the hill, running quickly towards the town. Chloe’s never felt anything like it before.

She clutches Lucifer’s middle, feeling the strength of his stomach as he gives the horse commands. He’s a natural and drives the three of them on a steady course. But it’s not just Lucifer commanding the horse that shocks her, but the feeling of freedom as they tear down the dirt lane, ducking beneath tree limbs and riding up hills, which makes Chloe hold on tighter. She never thought riding a horse would be _fun_.

Eventually, Lucifer slows, giving the horse some time to catch its breath. Chloe releases a laugh.

“Yes, Detective?” he asks and she can feel the timber of his voice through his skin.

Chloe resists resting her cheek against his back.

“This isn’t half-bad.”

“No, it’s not.” She’d expected ‘I told you so,’ but his passion is endearing.

They ride along quietly and no one follows. As they near the town, Chloe peeks around Lucifer to learn all she can before they’re dropped in the middle of some three-hundred-year-old village. All she can see is it’s small. Smaller than probably either of them had hoped. Chloe doesn’t have high hopes.

Lucifer steers the horse away from the main road as they grown closer. “What are you doing?”

“Someone might recognize the horse.”

“So, we’re just going to ditch it?”

“He’ll run home.”

“How do you know?”

“Horses are smart.”

Chloe is uneasy with the plan, but she chooses to trust in him again. Lucifer leads them to the edge of the tree line, right behind one of the houses. Chloe hopes no one is looking through one of the carved windows. Lucifer hops down first. Chloe tries not to think about the future and what other means of transportation they might need. It seems Lucifer will do what needs to be done. He holds out his arms to her and her nerves have returned. “Come along, Detective,” he says softly, as if he were talking to a scared animal. Trust. She rests her hands on his shoulders and he basically lifts her once again.

She settles onto level ground and Lucifer drops his hands. She does the same.

The horse lingers for a moment, but then, sure enough, it’s turning around.

“Amazing.”

“Hm.” Lucifer turns towards the direction of the town. They’ll have to walk some, but Chloe decides she’ll be fine. Even so, Lucifer offer his arm.

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“If you’re pretending to be my wife, it’ll be necessary.”

“Oh. Right.”

And so, Chloe loops her arm through Lucifer’s. It’s not the first time. It’s not the first time playing his wife, either. She’s played his fiancé before, too. So none of this should matter. But she can’t help feeling worried and unsure. It’s the duration that scares her. Earlier, Lucifer had mentioned forever. What if they can’t ever go back? What’ll it mean for them? For Trixie? Her mom and Dan? Ella, Linda, Amenadiel, and Maze. 

Chloe pushes the thoughts aside. She can’t worry too much yet. They don’t know anything.

Lucifer begins to walk and Chloe tries not to hobble next to him too badly.

“Doing good, Mrs. Morningstar?” he asks.

She swallows hard. “Fine. I’m fine.”

 _Fine_ is not the four-letter word that keeps running through her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, loves!


	3. To this poor provincial town

Chloe tries her best to keep her head held high, until she realizes that’s part of the problem. What Lucifer warned her about earlier is apparent within minutes; the men of this time react to her instantly. At first, it’s curiosity, which shouldn’t worry her, but that curiosity suddenly turns lecherous. The men they pass seem either angry with her or wanton and both could have unfortunate consequences.

She tightens her hold on Lucifer’s arm.

“Alright, Detective?”

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbles, non-committal. 

Lucifer senses the change in her more than he’s letting on and his formerly slow steps have quickened. 

Chloe tries not to focus on the gazes, which is difficult when it seems the whole town in out strolling. Her clothing seems to be the first thing people notice, which makes sense. Her jeans and buttoned white blouse, her soft tan leather coat, her boots, are all completely opposite of the women wearing structured dresses that push their boobs up to their throats. Some of the women don hats over pulled back hair. They’re refined, even in a farming community.

She’s an alien to them.

Lucifer is better suited, literally. Although, he still sticks out.

The street is short, maybe two city blocks. Between buildings are dirt farming roads that head out along the rolling hills, aiding the local farmers in bringing livestock, produce, and goods into the town. She and Lucifer pass a few shops she understands—a butcher, a seamstress, a blacksmith, an apothecary, and a cobbler for shoes. But she’s surprised to see a candlestick maker, assuming that was just in children’s rhymes, and she’s surprised to see a brothel. Right there. No shame.

Lucifer is obviously curious.

“Keep walking,” she teases him, feeling better as they reach the other end of the road without so many uncomfortable stares.

“Mm, it’s been a long time since I’ve been with a professional.”

“You’ve—” she stops herself, because _of course_ he’s been with a professional girl. “Please just don’t tell me about it if you decided to—”

“Try the local cuisine?”

“—pay a girl. But ew, Lucifer. Really?”

He chuckles and reaches for the door of the Ouse Inn. “Do you know where Ouse is?” she asks him.

Lucifer seems a little uncomfortable, his smile dropping. “No. Come along, we’ll get a room and hopefully figure out where we are.”

Chloe’s stomach turns a little at the thought of ‘getting a room’ with Lucifer. If they’re pretending to be husband and wife, that’ll just be one room, right? She knows Lucifer wouldn’t push her boundaries, and she’s slept in his bed before—even beside him—but she wonders if the beds in whatever time this is are as big as his custom king.

She doesn’t have high hopes.

Chloe walks into the inn first and she’s surprised that they find themselves in a bar. “Is this right?”

He nods. His hand falls to the base of her spine. “Inns used to be alehouses downstairs, which usually serve three meals a day with no special requests or variation, and rooms upstairs.”

“Seriously, are you some history nerd and never told me?”

“I’ve told you more than once—”

“Yes, you’ve seen this time,” she replies sarcastically.

Lucifer steers Chloe towards the bar. She’s reminding herself to not take offense to the offensive look the bartender gives her, but it’s not easy. Lucifer’s hand remains on her, keeping up the husband-and-wife roleplay, which is just fine. Chloe’s tactile and his hand on her reminds her they’re not on a film set. She’s not undercover for the L.A.P.D. They’re not even in their own century.

The bartender finally looks at Lucifer when he lays a coin on the bar top. Chloe’s not sure how much money Lucifer managed to swipe from the stables back on the farm, but it still makes her uneasy. But seeing the weathered coin, and the way the man pockets it, makes her glad they have anything at all.

“We’d like three nights, including meals.”

The man shakes his head. “Two nights, two meals.”

Lucifer shakes his head. He’s not bargaining with the man. “I know the rates.” Chloe seriously doubts this. “Three nights, three meals a day.”

There’s not much Lucifer can do if the man says no. There’s not a Holiday Inn down the street.

The man eyes her again and this time, it’s not offensive in the same way. He undresses her with his eyes. Chloe has to assume it’s because of the outfit. Surely men of the time didn’t just eye fuck every woman. In fact, she’s more covered up than some of the women they’ve passed. She crosses her arms over her chest. Lucifer’s hand slides up to her shoulder, squeezing her against his side, as if to show the man that she’s spoken for. Chloe doesn’t like this much better—feeling like a piece of property to Lucifer isn’t high on her list of dreams—but it’s better than the alternative.

He sets down two mugs and reaches for something behind the bar. The man pours them what looks and smells like beer. “Thank you,” Lucifer says. Chloe says nothing but does courteously lift the mug to her lips to take a sip. The beer or whatever it is is terrible. Heady and thick. She tries her best to not spit it back out.

The man eyes her, watches her, and probably still watches her even when she looks away.

She hears the clink of metal and sees a big iron key on the bar top. “Three,” the man says.

Lucifer takes the key without a word. He grabs his mug and Chloe grabs hers, although she’d rather forget it. He walks up first, finally returning his hands to his sides. The stairs creak under their weight, which doesn’t instill confidence in the overall structure, but Chloe tries to focus on the positive: they have somewhere to sleep.

They reach the top of the steps, leading to a long hallway with a window at the far end, which gives the space just enough light. None of the doors are numbered, and there’s a few on each side, so Lucifer makes the decision to try the second door on the left. He glances at her, she shrugs, and he tries the key. A turn to the right, then the left, and the door unlatches.

Chloe walks into the room as Lucifer holds the door open. There’s a window over the bed, which, as Chloe’d imagined, is small. She wonders if it even counts as a double. The room is anchored by a fireplace, which might be necessary once the sun set due to the stone lining the walls being a poor vector for heat without a fire. There are two chairs before the fire and a chest in the corner. If they had anything but the clothes on their back, they might tuck away their extras.

The room is small and intimate. Lucifer is too big for the space. Chloe wonders how many couples have slept here, possibly passing through on their travels. Newly-weds, maybe. Technically, she and Lucifer were newly-weds; only a few hours ago he’d taken her as his “wife.”

Lucifer stands on the other end of the room, his hands in his pockets.

Her eyes settle on him.

“How are you?” he asks.

Chloe fingers the back of the chair, feeling the ornate fabric between her fingers. Someone could’ve placed a chair like this in a museum and she’d guess it’d be worth tens of thousands of dollars, but here it sits in a modest inn in an unfamiliar town.

She walks around the chair to sit down. “I’m…overwhelmed.”

He seems almost relieved. “Me, as well.”

“Really?”

Lucifer sits across from her. 

“For a moment, please suspend your disbelieve in all I’ve told you about my history.” She decides to try and nods. “I’ve seen nearly every time period, Detective. I _should_ be able to pinpoint with better accuracy our time and place, but I can’t and it makes me…uncomfortable. Downstairs, with that schilling, I had no idea if it’d work.”

“But it did.”

“Yes. Luckily.”

“I’ll lean into luck if that’s what’s going to get us through.”

Chloe crosses her legs and feels the weight of the room around her. She knows pretending to be Lucifer’s wife is part of the charade, but she feels like rules need to be set early. “So, I’m your fake wife.”

“Never thought there’d come a day when the Devil would be hitched.”

“You married Candy.”

Something flickers over his eyes, a bit of amusement, and Chloe feels like she’s on the outside of an inside joke. “Yes, I did. And if I remember correctly, you pretended to be Mrs. Morningstar. I remember liking all the pink.”

Chloe narrows her eyes, but she can’t help offering a little grin. “I’m setting rules.”

Lucifer sighs. “Rules are no fun.”

“We need rules. Like you said, we don’t know how long this will go on.” Before Lucifer can protest, she continues, “One, no kissing.”

He thinks for a minute and she wonders if he’s remembering their kiss on the beach. “Fine,” he agrees. “I shouldn’t think it’d be difficult, considering PDA is probably frowned upon in this time.”

“Two, no naked. You don’t change in front of me and I don’t change in front of you.”

“We’ve both seen it all, but fine.”

“No cuddling.”

“When have I ever tried to cuddle you, Detective?”

She flashes to him holding her the night she threw herself at him, and then he turned her down, early in their partnership. The night he gave her the bullet necklace. The times he’s comforted her. His hand on her face right when they’d considered becoming…more. None of those moments were cuddles, strictly, but tender moments that felt like… She shakes the thought from her head. “Just agree.”

Lucifer sighs. “Yes, yes. Fine. I won’t cuddle you.”

“Just no…being Lucifer about this.”

“I can’t say I know what other way to be.”

“If we wouldn’t do it in the middle of the precinct, then we don’t do it here and now.”

“I’d do _a lot_ in the middle of the precinct, Detective.” He raises his eyebrows.

“Behave.”

He flashes her a wolfish grin. “I’ll give it a try.” He glances to the bed. “We’ll have nothing to sleep in tonight, unless you’ll allow me to go commando.” He gives her a wry smile.

“I’m adding a new rule about sexual innuendos.”

“Now, Detective, that’s just _mean_.”

She narrows her eyes again. “We’re sleeping in clothes. We will always be clothed.”

Lucifer pushes off his knees to stand. “We need more to wear than Target jeans and a Versace suit. We also need information. Our friend downstairs wasn’t very chatty.” He holds out his hand to help Chloe up and she’s not sure she’s been assisted to move so much in her life. Not that she’s complaining.

Chloe tests her ankle again. It feels a bit better after having done some walking. “My jeans are from the Gap.”

He smirks at her. “Such refinery, Detective.”

* * *

Lucifer holds the door for her again as they enter the seamstress’s shop. Chloe’s not even sure how clothes are made during this time, but she does notice more than a few items hung along iron pegs on the wall. She was afraid everything would be made specially, meaning Chloe’d have to wear these clothes for days. 

The room is brighter than she’d expected, but she’d imagine hand stitching required good light. There are multiple work surfaces covered in clothes, buttons, ribbons, pieces of leather, and different tools which all look like something that could give someone a lobotomy. 

In the corner, near the fireplace, sits an older woman. She doesn’t look up from her stitching.

“Yes?”

She’s probably not at old as she looks, but difficult times make people appear older.

Lucifer takes the lead again, but it doesn’t bother Chloe as much when some man isn’t glaring at her.

“We’re in need of some clothes fairly quickly.”

“Custom made takes a week.”

“We’ll…shop off the rack.”

Chloe wonders if Lucifer’s ever said such a thing in his life.

She’s not sure of the budget, but Lucifer doesn’t seem too appalled by what’s covering her arms once she begins picking items off the wall. When the woman notices how much they’re buying, she stands up and assists them in buying more. Chloe doesn’t know what women of the time wear, so the seamstress—Mrs. Denton—pulls out a few shifts, two corsets, and socks to her growing pile. Lucifer has pants—almost like horse riding pants, which tuck into boots—shirts, waistcoats, jackets, and his own socks. The dresses Chloe’s chosen are mostly muted neutrals and heavy, but they’re softer than she’d imagined. She tries not to think too much about the corset, hoping she can get away without wearing one.

Mrs. Denton opens up to them as Lucifer flashes the few coins he has left. Chloe thinks about the currency she’s used to and how coins mean next to nothing, but in this time, he’s holding a fortune in just a few shillings.

Reading Chloe’s dismay over the clothes, but not asking questions, Mrs. Denton offers to help Chloe dress behind one of the screens. “Yes, thank you,” she says relieved, worrying that Lucifer would have to help which wouldn’t be helpful. Mrs. Denton offers Lucifer the other screen.

“Keep your clothes,” he tells Chloe before they tuck into their separate corners.

She nods.

Mrs. Denton works quickly once Chloe’s stepped out of her clothes. Well, most of her clothes. The older woman tsks over Chloe’s bra and underwear. She touches the strap of Chloe’s bra like it’s something dangerous. “Wh…?” she begins but doesn’t end. Chloe doesn’t give her an answer. “Off,” the woman tells her.

Chloe’s not usually shy, but when a seemingly grumpy older woman demands you get naked, it tends to lead to some…uncertainty.

The shift goes on first, which is a glorified nightgown. It’s actually pretty soft. Then the corset. Chloe steals her breath, but Mrs. Denton tells her to breathe normally or she’ll be uncomfortable all day. She doesn’t question why Chloe, in her mid-30s, has never worn a corset before. Mrs. Denton isn’t gentle. She tugs on the strings, physically pulling Chloe back with each pull. She grips the screen, which trembles beneath her shaking hands.

Outside the screen, Chloe hears Lucifer walking around.

The last piece is the dress. She’s lucky there’s not more, but also unlucky. _Do women not wear underwear?_ She’ll slip her own back on as soon as Mrs. Denton’s hawk eyes aren’t glaring at her.

Chloe realizes she has a moment here potentially. While Mrs. Denton fusses over the dress, which fits Chloe remarkably well, she takes a chance. “Have you seen any other travelers lately? Dressed strangely,” she adds.

The older woman makes a noise. “And if I had?”

She’s very suspicious.

“I’d appreciate any information you could give me about him.”

Mrs. Denton walks in front of Chloe now, not meeting her gaze. “How do you know it was a man?”

“I know him,” Chloe says.

“He was nervous.”

Chloe stares hard at Mrs. Denton until she meets Chloe’s eyes. “What was he nervous about?”

She stands back to look at her work. Her eyes examine Chloe’s hair and she looks a touch miffed. She motions to the chair. “Sit.” Chloe doesn’t dare disobey her. She pulls out her hair tie, not sure if the woman would throw it out otherwise. Chloe wraps it around her wrist. The woman begins to set Chloe’s hair. “He said he’d lost something.”

From outside the screen, Lucifer asks, “Did he mention what? Or who?”

“No.”

“Did he buy clothes from you?”

“He didn’t have money.”

“Then where did he go?” he asks from beyond the screen again.

“No idea.” Mrs. Denton grabs Chloe’s chin and turns her face to the right and then then the left. She nods and steps back. “Good.” She steps around the screen. 

With a moment alone, Chloe pulls on her underwear. She tucks her bra into the folds of her other clothes and presses all of them to her chest. The rest of her clothes, the ones she’s purchasing, await on one of the worktables. There’s no mirror, so Chloe has no idea how she looks, but she _feels_ ridiculous. The dress is so much heavier on and she’s not even sure where the heaviness is from because it’s not one of those big, wide things she’s seen in paintings and period pieces. It’s straight down, almost skimming the floor. Her boobs are pressed high, which is going to be interesting around Lucifer.

She’s stalling _because_ of her boobs.

From the other side, it sounds like Lucifer settles up with the woman. “If you had more information, I might be able to supply more.”

Quiet. Outside, Chloe can hear a man yelling, but he doesn’t sound angry. Chloe wonders what day of the week it is here. Is it a Saturday or Sunday? It seems like no one is heading anywhere in a rush. “He didn’t say nothing else.”

Chloe steps out from behind the screen.

Lucifer glances at her and, of course, his eyes flicker to her chest. He grins slowly before turning back to the woman and asks, “You’re sure?”

The woman is suspicious again. “Why’re you asking so many questions?”

“We’re just trying to find him. Find out what happened to him.” He’s trying his charms on the woman.

Her gaze softens, but she still doesn’t smile. Lucifer’s charms seem to be working on her, if even just briefly. “I don’t know anything else.”

Chloe can see how suspicious the woman is and she wants to ask more, but worries that suspicion might turn to conversations, which might have the whole town turning on them. But Chloe thinks she might be able to shift the conversation. “Did he ask where he was?”

She seems annoyed at the question. “How’d you know that?”

Chloe pauses, but Lucifer, seemingly, doesn’t have as many fears about questioning the woman. “We’re a bit lost,” he admits. “We understand we’re in Ouse, but not sure where that is. Do you know of a map in town?”

“No.”

“Could you tell us what country we’re in?” The woman gives him a look, but she just seems confused. “Kingdom?” he tries and ‘kingdom’ seems like something out of a fantasy novel, but Chl—

“Norswe.”

* * *

Chloe and Lucifer step out into the afternoon sun. For the first time all day, Chloe is hungry. Her stomach growls beneath the corset, which she feels crushed against her ribs. When she tries to take a deep breath, the vice around her middle constricts her. She might need to loosen the ties tomorrow when she wears the corset again. Or she’ll ditch the corset altogether.

Lucifer doesn’t seem thrilled with his outfit, either. He’s sporting the riding pants, but has yet to purchase the right boots, so his ankles are exposed, which is actually funny. Although Chloe doesn’t laugh. He wears a shirt, not far off from one of his pressed white Oxfords, tucked beneath a waistcoat, and all covered in a blue jacket with tails. 

She seriously feels like an extra in a bad film.

She puts her discomfort aside. “Should we get you boots?” She can still wear her boots, which with the heel, keeps her skirt from dragging in the mud of the ‘road.’ 

Across the street is the cobbler.

Lucifer doesn’t move. They stand off to the side as the town seemingly passes them by.

She knows what he’s thinking and she should give him time to digest, but if he’s ‘lived through times like this,’ he should know the answer. She _hopes_ he knows the answer. “Where’s Norswe?”

The question hangs for a long time. He’s not _trying_ to blow her off, she assumes, but he’s also not rushing to answer her. If—the _biggest_ if—he is who he says he is, maybe he has to sift through many years of memories.

Lucifer practically cuddles his modern clothes to his chest. “I don’t know.”

She’s instantly disappointed. “It could be the old name of a country, right?”

He shakes his head, not allowing this question to lie. “Not to my knowledge. If we’re in the 1700s, that’s only three-hundred-years-ago. We can read extensive written histories from then. If we were in, say, BC, I could believe we were in a country we know by another name, since written histories were nearly non-existent or lost in time. But three-hundred-years is just a blip.”

“What if we’re in like, Sweden or something. Norswe sounds like Norse. Weren’t the Norse people from Scandinavia?”

“They were, but does this _look_ like Scandinavia to you? Plus, they’re speaking English.”

Chloe doesn’t know what Scandinavia looks like, but Lucifer catches her on the second point.

She sighs, tightening her clothes against herself—her last lifeline to her time, besides Lucifer, of course—and glances at him. He’s all tight shoulders and a tick in his jaw. His dark eyes are storm clouds. She can’t let the fear inside her take over, but his silence is deafening.

Chloe looks out at the people milling about. Humans. Completely normal. Lucifer just doesn’t know a part of history. She can’t blame him. He didn’t live through these times, or any other time before probably the 1980s, or maybe 70s. She’s not actually sure how old he is. But she knows he doesn’t have all the answers. They just need a map.

She tugs on his jacket sleeve. He shakes away whatever thoughts he was lost in and the storm clouds dissipate in his eyes. “Come on. Let’s get you some shoes so your ankles don’t get cold.”

His face breaks into a grin and she feels better already. He glances down at his own bare ankles, his shoes suctioned into the mud. She wonders if he’ll try to salvage them. He holds out his arm again. “Come along, _wife_ ,” he teases, and yet, Chloe’s not sure how the title makes her feel.

Confused, mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your enthusiasm over this story. I am so glad you're enjoying enough to leave some comments. I love reading them!
> 
> The beginning of this story will be a little slow. I hope that's okay. I really want to establish this time and place and, more importantly, how Chloe sees it and feels about what she sees. We'll definitely be moving a bit quicker soon. Stick with me!
> 
> I appreciate your lovely feedback. Thank you again, a million, billion times. Thank you!


	4. One Is the Loneliest Number

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Mild non-consent (i.e. refusing to acknowledge a woman's "no" and a very brief, unwanted touch).

The alehouse beneath their room changes at night. Gone are the leisurely diners, sipping away at terrible ale; replaced by drinkers. Raucous drinkers. The alehouse is ablaze with activity, voices, and the occasional chant as men lean across tables, push back chairs so they scratch across the wooden floors, and toss their mugged hands in the air, spilling amber liquid everywhere.

The barkeep doesn’t seem to care.

The bar maiden seems used to it.

Chloe’s not. She’s not scared, though. They’re just people, but she sort of feels like a field mouse creeping past a bunch of cats. If they’re distracted enough with food and treats, the cats might ignore her. But one wrong move and she’s outnumbered. Even in her dangerous line of work, she knows being outnumbered can sign a death certificate.

Lucifer leads her to a table tucked away. Like mobsters, they sit side-to-side, giving them a full view of the pub. Chloe breathes against the corset, still feeling like it’s just too tight, but she’s growing used to the feel of something braced around her waist. With his new boots, Lucifer now looks the part. His hair is messier than he’d normally allow, and she can tell he’ll need to shave again soon for that perfect five o’clock shadow look, but all-in-all, they’re blending in better.

Two men pass their table, not paying them any mind. “Damn horse came back slow as can be. Out for a stroll it looked like. Stupid thing.”

Chloe looks at Lucifer, wondering.

“You sure no one went for a ride? Olsen or Nichols?”

“Not sure of anything. Olsen had his purse stolen. Five shilling.”

The men carry on. Chloe feels bad. The clothes on her back from stolen money. “We have to pay him back,” she tells Lucifer.

He nods. “We will. We’ll need to find something more sustainable.”

“You won’t keep stealing?”

Lucifer shakes his head. The bar maiden approaches. Red dress, red hair. She looks at Lucifer and smiles. Chloe rolls her eyes as he smiles back. She really, really wishes they weren’t sharing a bed since she knows eventually, he might want to entertain someone in their room. The women sets down two mugs. Chloe wants water. She asks for a mug of water and the woman gives her a strange look. Either she ignores her, or has other things to do, because she asks Lucifer sweetly, “Dinner?”

“For two, yes.”

As she steps away, Lucifer takes a sip of his ale, and answers her question. “I don’t want to steal, so I’ve been considering other options. I thought I could get back into working favors. But…I’m not sure what favors would be needed at this time. It’s not like I have local connections.”

Chloe just stares at him.

He sighs. “And yes, you don’t believe me.”

While they sit there, Chloe looks around the room, assessing the men around them. All locals, it seems. They might be the only ones staying upstairs. The tables are crowded with friends, neighbors, associates. They crack their mugs together in celebration, laughing at jokes, and talking over each other. If she didn’t feel like such a foreigner, Chloe might even consider joining in, but she knows she’d receive looks.

Lucifer assesses the room, too. He’s more obvious than her, but it seems like he can be. He’s a man, after all, which still makes Chloe want to throw a shoe across the room. 

“What kind of favors did you used to do?”

“Anything, really.”

“Give me an example.”

The bar maiden returns and sets a mug in front of Chloe. The metal mug is cold and she looks in. Clear, seemingly crisp water. Chloe raises it to her mouth, not caring where it might be from, and takes a long, deep gulp. Nothing’s ever tasted better.

Lucifer chuckles. “Lost in the Sahara Desert for a month?”

Chloe wipes the water from her lips with the back of her hand. “I thought no one drank water and I’d just have to find a stream.”

“I think they don’t _prefer_ water. Why would you when you have ale?”

“That ale sucks.”

“You don’t have a refined palette.”

She rolls her eyes again.

Lucifer grins.

Chloe worries about what dinner might be. They haven’t eaten all day, so she’s not sure she cares, but there’s only so much she can force down. With all the sheep surrounding the village, she assumes lamb will be on the menu. She’s never been a fan, but she’s not going to starve. 

Maybe that’s how Frank died.

“Do you think Frank would’ve come here?”

“I’d assume so. Not much else in the area, although there should be a city around here somewhere.”

“Why do you think that?”

Lucifer shrugs one shoulder. He almost seems as comfortable as he would back in their time, which still unnerves her. He’s said he’s uncomfortable with having so little knowledge of this time, but seemingly nothing else bothers him. He knows a lot, even if a lot are just guesses, which might help him keep any anxieties in check.

“Villages like this were always connected to bigger towns, even cities. They’re not self-contained. They’d need to trade.”

“You think Frank would’ve tried for a bigger town?”

“Yes, because that’s what I think we need to do.”

“You do?”

Lucifer turns to her and she can read the thoughts working, but just not read what they’re saying. He knits his brow, drums his fingers on the mug. “I think we spend our shillings’ worth and stay the three nights, learn all we can, and then yes, we should find a city, preferably. It seems Frank has very few resources. He might’ve thought he’d do better in a bigger place with more people. He could hide better.”

The bar maiden approaches with two bowls and sets them down, spoons already in a tan liquid. It doesn’t look appealing, but it smells of heaven. “Oh my god.”

“I doubt he’s assisting us, but I understand the sentiment.”

Chloe doesn’t even have a response because she’s already eating. The spoon is hot from sitting in the stew, so Chloe burns her tongue, but it doesn’t slow her down. The broth is rich with flavor. There’s cubes of meat, herbs, carrots, and big chunks of potato. The stew is hearty and warms her all the way down her throat. Chloe eats voraciously, spoon after spoon. She wonders if she looks a mess, but when she glances at Lucifer, he’s also devouring the contents of his bowl.

For the next few minutes, they’re quiet, so the noise of the pub pulses in her ears. Chloe rips off a piece of bread, dunking it into the broth. She’s truly not sure if she’s ever been so well-fed before. 

As she eats, Chloe notices a man across the room whittling away at a chunk of wood. He sits alone before the fireplace, feet crossed at the ankle, leaning back in his chair to do his work. He glances at her again and again. He glances at Lucifer again and again. At one point when the man looks away, she nudges Lucifer, nodding in the man’s direction.

“I saw,” Lucifer says before finishing off a spoonful of stew.

“You should talk to him.”

“Just me?” He quirks an eyebrow.

Chloe hates to hand over the reins, but she’s also self-aware. “The two of us might be intimidating. He’s less likely to talk. Plus, you have your mojo thing,” she motions between his eyes.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.”

Lucifer finishes his stew and pushes the bowl away. He takes a hearty sip of ale and stands, adjusting his jacket. He reaches for cufflinks that aren’t there. They’ve tucked his cufflinks beneath the mattress in their room for safe keeping. The rest of their normal clothes in the trunk in the corner. If they can escape tomorrow, they’ll need to be ready.

Chloe slows as her stew whittles down to just a few pieces of carrots and a thick chunk of meat. She leans back, breathing as deeply as possible. She watches Lucifer. His eyes flicker to hers for a moment—a nod—and then he sits down gracefully across the from man, his back to Chloe. He’s good at what he does, even without formal training. Some people have a gift and Lucifer certainly possesses the gift of dealing with people. Chloe can be empathetic, but sometimes she feels she’s too introverted.

To her left, she hears the scraping of a chair. A man dressed in a dark gray jacket jumps up, a smile on his face—a good sign—as he shouts. He points a finger down to a man across from him. The man grins, too, and stands. His chair back whacks against the floor. Chloe just watches the exchange. They’re talking fast, but she understands they’re about to have a foot race. She rolls her eyes. _Men will be boys._

A whole group of men pour out into the street, letting in the cool air from outside the door. As expected, the night’s turned cold. They’ll need a fire tonight.

_I’ll keep you warm, Detective._

She hates that even across the room, just several feet between them, she still imagines what he might say to her thoughts.

Chloe drinks her water, taking in ever sip. She’s knows the bathroom situation is…less than ideal—they’re lucky to have an indoor closet that they call a privy, otherwise, she’d be squatting outside—so she shouldn’t be drinking so much water. But she also needs to hydrate as much as possible. She watches Lucifer over the rim of her mug. He leans towards the man. Chloe wond—

“How much?”

She turns to the voice close to her.

“What?”

“How much?” he repeats, as if that clarifies anything.

The man is tall with a dark beard, peppered with white and gray hairs. He has a weathered face, deep wrinkles by his eyes and along his forehead. His hair is long enough to cover most of his neck—curly. He leans against the wall beside the table, his eyes unmistakably on her chest. She sighs—which makes it worse—and covers her chest as naturally as she can with her arms.

He takes Lucifer’s chair and sits beside her.

He reeks of beer.

“How. Much?”

“For what?”

His lips curl up. “To take you in the back and fuc—”

“I’m not…No. I’m”—not for sale, but what a ridiculous thing to have to say—“I’m not a prostitute.” Chloe wants to use the more acceptable and inclusive term—sex worker—but she doesn’t really know about saying the word “sex” aloud to a man like this in a time like this.

The man doesn’t seem to care because his hand curls along her thigh beneath the table. “I’ll be sweet to you.”

Chloe easily removes his hand from her person. “No.”

He chuckles. “It won’t take long. You’ll like it.”

He leans in, his breath close to her now. Chloe slides back in her chair. Her heart is hammering in her chest. Sure, she’s heard enough lewd comments in her life to write a book about sexual harassment, but she’s never had someone so brazen. Someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Even as she slides away, the man follows her. When she stands, he’s right there, looming over her like a vulture to prey. He reaches for her waist.

Chloe turns to where Lucifer’s sitting, except he’s not sitting here any longer. Chloe feels a rush of panic. What if he’s just gone? Sucked back through time. He left her. She’s alone and—

“She said ‘no.’”

Lucifer stands behind the man, stepping out behind him to face him. They’re almost the same height, but differently built. Lucifer is lithe and tight and the man is as wide as he is tall. His muscles practically want to burst from beneath his shirt. The man looks Lucifer over, sizing him up, and then he laughs. “She yours?”

Chloe meets Lucifer’s eyes and she knows he can’t lie. Won’t lie. She’s not his, even if she tells everyone in town they’re married. It’s not true. Even Lucifer can’t say the words and now, he can’t say these. So, Chloe pulls her weight. “Yes. I’m his.”

His eyes flit to her dress and then back to Lucifer. “Shouldn’t she have a ring?”

“She should.”

Chloe runs her left thumb over her fourth finger. 

The man makes a sound deep in his chest. “She looks as good as one of the whores next door. I’d like to have her sit on my c—”

“She’s spoken for,” Lucifer reiterates.

“Aye? And who’ll stop me? You?”

Lucifer growls and Chloe feels it in her chest. His hands ball into fists and he leans towards the man. He steps into his line of sight, almost to distract him from Chloe. They’re now attracting attention from other patrons. The alehouse even quiets a bit. The man Lucifer had been talking to is seemingly gone, whittling and everything. Chloe wants to reach out to Lucifer, calm him, but she doesn’t want to distract him.

The two puff out their chests, and if not for strangers in a strange land, Chloe might roll her eyes at the macho display.

“Yes, I’ll stop you.”

The man laughs. Chloe hopes that’s it. They’ve had their words and they’re both done, but she’s wrong. The man pushes into Lucifer. “She’ll be mine.”

A second doesn’t pass before Lucifer’s lifted the man up into the air by his throat.

“Lucifer!” she cries out. She rushes around the table, her hip knocking against it.

“She said ‘no,’” Lucifer reiterates.

Chloe reaches him. The man is feet off the floor, choking beneath Lucifer’s hand. She curls her hand around his bicep. He tenses but doesn’t move. “Lucifer,” she says quietly to him, stroking her hand along his arm. “Lucifer, look at me.”

He makes a noise in his chest, deep and angry.

“I’m fine. He didn’t do anything. I’m fine.”

The man lowers closer to the ground. Lucifer’s dark eyes finally meet hers and for a flash, she thinks she sees red. She blinks and he’s just him. “I’m okay,” she whispers to him. “Please. If you hurt him…don’t leave me, okay? If you hurt him, they might hurt you. Please.”

A moment later, the man is on the floor gasping, his own hand soothing his throat. Just because Lucifer let him go doesn’t mean he’s done. He turns to the man, his back to Chloe, and he says, “If I see you again, I will punish you.”

Chloe takes Lucifer’s hand in hers. She feels it shaking. She pulls him back towards her, which happens to be towards the stairs. The rest of the patrons look away now, but the din of voices grows and Chloe knows they’re running through a play-by-play. If the barkeep is put off by their behavior, he says nothing. Chloe keeps pulling Lucifer, feeling the rage radiating off of him. She tries her best to calm him down but knows the best way to do it is to get far away.

She leads him up the steps. He follows without a word. Her hand is clammy, which she knows he can feel, but he doesn’t tease her on it. At the door, she holds out her other hand. “Key.”

He digs in his pocket and hands it to her.

Once inside their room, Chloe feels a rush of relief. She drops his hand, because her hands have begun to shake, and she walks around one of the wingback chairs to the fireplace. “Let’s get this place warm.”

Before she can do anything, Lucifer’s hand is on her elbow, dragging her back to her feet. He stares down at her with an intensity she’s never seen before. He reaches forward, looking like he might touch her face, but he drops his hand to her shoulder. He searches her face. Her heart races. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

She nods, looking up at him. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

A moment passes. Then two. And then, he seems to relax. “I’ll take care of the fire.”

“Please, let me do it. I’m beginning to feel helpless. You had to rescue me.”

Lucifer removes his jacket and tosses it over his chair. “I didn’t rescue you; I helped you.”

“There’s the difference?”

“More than you know.”

She looks over at him. “Wh—”

“Do you want to know what the man said? The one carving out the bird.”

“It was a bird?”

Chloe grabs small pieces wood to get the fire started. They have a torch on the wall, which seems like it’s always burning—emitting a faint glow—and she uses its flame to light a piece of wood on fire. She starts the rest of the wood on fire and the heat fills the chilly room.

Lucifer continues. “He did see Mr. Reynolds.”

“He did?”

Chloe sits across from Lucifer, leaning down to remove her boots.

“Just last week, he believed. He ate downstairs and ditched the payment. Left without a word.”

“Where’d he go?” Her boots are now in a pile next to the chair. 

“No idea.”

Chloe reaches up to unpin her hair next, her scalp aching from the tight style. Lucifer’s eyes are on her, but it’s so much more comforting than the man downstairs. She knows his gaze is full of respect for her—for her choices—even if he happens to look at her boobs because this dress is ridiculous. But right now, he only looks into her eyes.

She collects the pins on her thigh. Lucifer looks away. “I’d had a thought that if we’re somewhere else—another…plane of existence or another dimension”—Chloe laughs—“that perhaps time moves differently, but it couldn’t be that different if Mr. Reynolds was seen just last week.”

“I wanna get back to this ‘other dimension’ thing, but does that mean you think our timing matches up with his?”

“I assume so. It makes sense that he spent a week here, something happened, and he returned.”

“By ‘something happened,’ you mean he was killed.” Chloe runs her fingers through her hair now, massaging her scalp.

He nods. “Possibly. If he’s dining and ditching, he could’ve gotten into trouble down the line. Made the wrong person angry.”

Chloe nods. “And then he lands on Matt Khan’s doorstep since, presumably, that’s where he left from.”

“I’d thought the same.”

“So now all we need to know is where he went, who he met, and who killed him.”

“Just that,” Lucifer agrees with a grin. She rolls her eyes. The fire warms the room faster than Chloe’d imagined and within a few minutes, she’s warm. She wants to remove her dress, but that’ll make them have the uncomfortable undressing portion of the evening sooner and she’s not sure she’s ready for that.

Lucifer reaches down now to remove his boots. “Did you want to talk about other planes of existence.”

“Not really.”

“Because you don’t believe.”

“Is that even a question?”

“Yes, I’m asking you.”

Chloe shrugs. She’s never thought of it because it felt…silly. But Lucifer doesn’t seem like he thinks it’s silly. But then again, he’s _Lucifer_. “I-I don’t know. I mean, isn’t this world complicated enough.” Lucifer nods a little. “And if you’re…the devil, or whatever, wouldn’t you _know_ about another dimension?”

“Fair point, although it’d be news to me.”

“Of course.”

Lucifer’s eyes glance at one of her hands, the left one curled around the wingback chair. “We need to get you a ring.”

Chloe fingers reflexively stretch. She looks at her bare left hand. The gold hand Dan put there lasted a long time, but nothing there since. She balls her hand. “Is it really necessary?”

“I think tonight proves it is.”

Just remembering the man’s hand on her thigh makes Chloe feel sick. She runs her sweaty palms down her thighs, almost to wipe the man from her memory. But she can’t just erase him. She also has a suspicion, that if not for Lucifer, no one else would’ve helped her. They’re in different times and to most, she’s either spoken for or not. Someone’s property or not.

She looks over at Lucifer. “You didn’t lie, when he asked if I was yours.”

He hangs his head a bit. “No. Not lying is going to be harder than I had thought.”

“I’ll lie for the two of us.”

“That might be best.”

She looks down at her finger again. “I guess I could wear a ring.”

“I promise not to get down on one knee,” he grins.

Chloe shakes her head. “You so much as make this a big deal, Lucifer—”

“I wouldn’t _dream_ of it, Detective.”

* * *

After a visit to the privy, with each of them taking turns guarding, they return to their room for the night. Chloe can’t tell if it’s early in the evening, or late, but she knows she’s exhausted. She also knows she needs help with her layers. Her dress is fastened with buttons and there’s no way she can bend in anyway to untie her corset. Lucifer stands across the room, working on his shirt when she sighs. He glances at her. “Yes, Detective?”

“I need help.”

He grins slowly.

“Don’t make that face. You won’t be seeing me naked.”

“Of course, Detective.”

“Just…come over here and help me.”

Chloe turns her back to him, looking into the dark corner of the room instead of into his awaiting gaze. She feels him fill the space behind him. After today, she doesn’t want anyone near her, let alone touching her—which Lucifer must understand—because he works quick;y. His dexterous fingers unbutton along her spine. Just because he works quickly doesn’t mean she can’t feel every single button come lose, his hands firm and steady working down her from mid-back to the base of her spine.

Once her dress is undone, she steps out of it. As she leans down to lift the dress from the floor, Lucifer gets there first and hangs the dress over his jacket on the back of his chair. Briefly, her eyes meet his. The firelight dancing around them does something to her, so she looks away quickly to stand again. Lucifer begins on the corset. 

She can hear the string pulling as he works from the bottom up. He unties, pulls, pulls again. On and on as he loosens the material, giving her the room to breathe in deep. She holds the corset against her stomach until he finally frees her completely. He takes a breath behind her and steps away. She neatly folds her corset and sets it on the trunk. Left in just her shift and socks—and hidden underwear—Chloe slides into the bed. She normally wouldn’t wear socks to bed, but the flooring is so cold.

She focuses on the ruckus downstairs as Lucifer gets undressed. The party doesn’t sound like it’s ending anytime soon. Chloe wonders if anything like ‘last call’ exists, or will they be drinking all night? She hears bursts of laughter. Chairs and tables scraping. But focusing elsewhere helps her remain respectful of Lucifer’s space.

He eventually crosses into her line of sight and places his shirt, waistcoat, and socks on top of the chest, leaving him in only his pants.

“Undergarments weren’t a thing.”

She nods. “Did everyone just sleep nude?”

“I don’t believe so, but I’m trusting in less and less in what I might believe.”

Lucifer adds a log to the fire. The room is brighter than Chloe would normally like, but the light and warmth make it cozy. She lies on her back, still watching him, as he crosses over to his side of the bed. _You’re already thinking in terms of sides_. Chloe shakes the thought away. 

As she’d suspected, the bed is so tiny that she can feel the length of Lucifer’s body along hers. He’s hot to the touch, warming her entire left side. She looks over at him. The pillows aren’t really comfortable. The mattress _definitely_ isn’t—lumpy and uneven. But when Lucifer returns her glance, a grin on his face that turns to a laugh, she’s comforted.

“What I’d do to get you in bed, Detective.”

“Oh, so you orchestrated this?”

“Absolutely. Impressed?”

“A little, yeah.”

“Good.”

She blinks a few times, feeling her eyes growing heavy. It’s been an exhausting day. She’s been pushed out of her comfort zone. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She doesn’t know where their case might take them. But she’s not alone. 

She turns on her side to face Lucifer. He’s _right_ there.

“Alright, Detective? I could get another room.”

“No. I want you to stay.”

His lip twitches. “As long as you desire, Detective.”

Chloe’s not sure when she falls asleep or how, really. The noise downstairs is deafening. Lucifer beside her is…confusing. But before long, her eyes are closed and she’s breathing against his arm. Right before she falls in deep enough, she thinks she hears, “I’m glad I’m not alone either, Chloe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! We're getting a little bit deeper into this. Learning this world. Is it earth? Is it a bizzaro earth? How long will Chloe and Lucifer make it in that small bed without a little cuddle? We shall find out all, in time.
> 
> Truly though, I appreciate you. Thank you for commenting or leaving kudos. You're all so very kind.


	5. Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I've ever posted on a Saturday, afraid people might miss it over the weekend, but then I decided fuck it. The chapter's done and just collecting dust. Thank you for your lovely support. Please enjoy!

Chloe is hot. She wakes to a pulsing of heat along her skin and fights against the bed coverings for some relief. She kicks her legs, pushing back the blankets until her legs are bare. She can feel perspiration along her lip, the back of her neck, behind her knees, so she starfishes in the bed—a limb in every direction, to try and cool off.

It’s then that she remembers where she is.

She sits up with a start and looks around the empty room. The fire is blazing, which has contributed to the heat, pairing with the warm sunlight streaming through the window above the bed. Chloe scrambles up, knees pressing into her pillow, and she throws open the window to the street below. Cool air washes over her and she sighs, resting her cheek against the window ledge.

Below, the villagers walk along the street. Promenade? No one seems to ever be in a hurry in this town. A farmer, presumably, carts his spoils through the middle of the street. Chloe notices tables set up, almost like a farmer’s market, where locals purchase fruits, vegetables, and meat. She also notices goods being bought and sold—baskets, iron works, blankets, and the like. Lucifer mentioned a town like this wouldn’t be self-containing, but it seems like everything one might need is just down below.

She wonders after Lucifer. 

She really needs to pee.

Chloe stands from the bed. As walks towards the door and tests the handle. Locked in. She’s not sure when modern locks were invented, but she needs the key to exit. “Fuck,” she whispers to herself and then she sees the key on the floor, having been slipped back beneath the door, probably when he left to do…Lucifer things. She bends and palms it. She’s wearing just her shift, which probably isn’t appropriate, but Chloe’s more concerned with her bare feet. She pulls on her boots, unlocks the door, and pulls it tight behind her to lock.

The privy isn’t pleasant, so Chloe forces herself to think of anything else. It’s been just over 24 hours and Chloe can’t remember feeling comfortable once in that time. There’s a steady thrum of worry in her head, a cycle of thoughts that she’s trying to ignore, because there’s nothing she can do, but of course she can’t ignore them.

Trixie.

She thinks of Trixie almost constantly.

Her daughter woke up today to an absent mother. Chloe’s not sure if anyone knows they’re gone yet, but if they do, Trixie will worry. There’s no comforting a child about a missing mother, which might be harder than the distance alone. Trixie won’t understand. She might think the worst.

_“Pierce.”_

Chloe starts. She finishes her business and steps back into the hallway, her boots heavy on the aching wooden floors. She hears Lucifer’s smooth voice saying “Pierce.” An accusation, maybe. She can hear the amusement in his voice, ever present. But she doesn’t remember when he said it. It was— She opens the door and startles when Lucifer is standing inside, poking at the fire with an iron fire poker.

She holds up the key.

“How the hell did you get in here?”

“Mm, indeed,” he grins, his eyes glinting. “And good afternoon to you, too, Detective.”

Chloe shuts the door behind her and locks it. “Afternoon?”

Lucifer holds open his jacket and produces a pocket watch from one of the abdominal pockets of his waistcoat. “I’ve done some shopping,” he says, pleased with himself. “And it’s just after two. I’ve brought you lunch,” he adds, nodding to the tray on the trunk in the corner.

Just then, Chloe’s stomach comes to life.

He returns to poking at the fire. “Please don’t tell me you put another log on.”

“Hot, Detective?” he chuckles a little. “I did think it was hot as hell in here, but as you know, that’s my temperature.”

Chloe sits down on the trunk, not even bothering to find a better place to eat. The plate is covered in vegetables all cooked in some gravy, mashed potatoes—maybe turnips—and a hunk of meat. She’d normally eat something like this for dinner, but she doesn’t think to care. 

She thinks back to last night, his heat radiating off of him. Around a piece of cauliflower, she says, “Yeah, you almost roasted me last night, too. We need to keep a window cracked or something.”

“Perhaps we’ll forgo a fire and I can just keep you warm.”

He’s raising his eyebrows to her. “Stop it,” she says, stabbing the fork in his direction.

Lucifer grins and lowers himself to her chair so they can see one another. He easily crosses one leg over the other and grips the arms of the chair with a drum of fingers. She finds she misses his suits. Lucifer in a suit is…something hypnotic. She noticed it day one, knowing it was part of his packaged allure, but his suits seem like an extension of himself. She often tries to pick apart what’s real and what’s not with him, and she’s decided his suits might be the realest part.

Even now, she’s at ease, nearly comfortable, but something seems off. Missing. He reaches to adjust a cuff and sours. Chloe chews thoughtfully. And then she remembers.

“Pierce!”

Lucifer meets her eyes. “What of him?”

“I had…a memory, I guess, of you saying his name.” She doesn’t mention she was peeing at the time. “But I couldn’t place it. It’s like I was only half-listening or something.”

“You don’t remember Pierce in Matt Khan’s house right before you touched the orb?”

Her fork hovers. “No.”

Lucifer furrows his brow and looks to the dying fire beneath the mantel. “Strange,” he says mostly to himself as he thinks on it.

Chloe sets down her fork and works through her memories of the moments before they were thrust back in time. She remembers the orb, of course. Blue and white gas—water?—swirling around inside. She vaguely remembers needing to touch it. It was cold. Yes, she remembers how cold it was, like touching an ice cube. No, colder. So cold. She remembers how excited she was to touch it and then…

_“Pierce!”_

“He was there?”

“Yes. Just after I’d returned from checking upstairs, he walked out of the front room. You don’t remember?”

“No. Tell me everything.”

Lucifer sighs. “Well, you were mesmerized by the orb. Staring into it like a crystal ball. I was trying to distract you, but you weren’t to be deterred. I was preparing to just physically pull you away when Pierce walked in. He was angry. A vein popping in his throat. Yelling at us for disobeying his orders. It was actually quite entertaining.”

Chloe knows what it looks like when Pierce is pissed but she has no memory correlating with that night. “What the hell was in that orb?”

“No idea, but if Pierce didn’t look suspicious before, he certainly does now.”

“Pierce couldn’t possibly know about all this, could he?”

“It’s hard to ignore the clues at this point.”

She sighs. Suddenly, no longer hungry. “He’s such a straight and narrow person.”

Lucifer scoffs. “You only know what he chooses to show you, Detective.”

She knows he’s not wrong, but it seems he’s pointing a finger in the wrong direction. Typically, Chloe would just ignore this kind of comment, but—call it the lingering heat in the room or her frustration for their predicament—she won’t be quiet today. “Goddammit, Lucifer. Can you just be real with me for a second?”

He seems…put off by her sudden outburst, but he says nothing at first.

She stands from the trunk and sighs, dragging her fingers through her hair. “I am patient with you. I don’t ask a lot of you. And you act like some truth-teller, but _you’re_ the one choosing to show me”—she waves her hand up and down, motioning to him—“whatever it is this is.”

“ _This_?”

“Yes! This persona. I want to know _you_ , Lucifer. What even is your real name?”

Lucifer looks at her coolly. “I only use the name you know me by.”

“But you have another name.”

“A long, long time ago.”

“Why can’t you just be real with me?” She hates how her voice is edging towards desperate.

A swift knock at the door ends any conversation. He stands easily, opening the door without using the key. It’s moments like that that lead her to believe something _is_ different about Lucifer. She’s not blind. She’s not dense. She knows up is up and down is down. And until now, all his crazy comments and ridiculous metaphors were just unbelievable. But they’ve fallen through time. They’re…elsewhere. So maybe all the bullshit isn’t actually bullshit.

She _did_ think she saw red in his eyes last night.

Was it a trick of light?

In through their door walks two men carrying a bathtub. The metal tub clangs as they set it down. They don’t so much as look towards Chloe. For the next couple of minutes, there’s a parade of men with buckets, dumping seemingly hot water into the tub. Lucifer stands by the door and Chloe covers herself with her arms. After a minute, the door is shut and it’s just the two of them.

Lucifer motions to the tub. “Not ideal, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Lucifer, I—”

“I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll grab an ale downstairs.”

“You could visit the brothel!” she offers, more as a joke.

Lucifer’s hand hovers on the doorknob. He cuts her a look. He laughs, but its humorless. “Don’t forget to lock the door behind me.”

“Lucif—” 

But he’s gone.

So much for leaning on each other.

Chloe crosses the room to touch the water. It’s hot, but a pleasant kind of warmth, one that might rinse the sweat from her body. She desperately needs a bath, but she hasn’t said a word, which makes Lucifer’s kindness all the more apparent. She looks to the door. She sighs and stands to lock it, knowing if she needs him, somehow, he can easily break in.

She doesn’t want to waste the water, or Lucifer’s thoughtfulness, so she strips out of her shift and her underwear. Since she only has the one pair, she decides to wash her underwear with her body, hoping to hold onto a little bit of her life for a minute longer.

The water is decadent as she slides in, inch by inch sinking lower until her shoulders are covered. People of this time must take baths seriously—since showers seem to be nonexistent—because this is a serious tub. Her one at home barely covers her breasts and here she is up to the chin with water. She can feel her muscles unravel, the tightness melting away. She didn’t realize how much stress her shoulders were carrying, but it’s apparent as the stress melt away.

Although, it doesn’t melt away. In fact, everything this afternoon has seemingly agitated it. 

Marcus Pierce was there when they fell through. He saw everything. For a moment, Chloe believes it’s a good thing. Pierce saw. He can tell Dan that she hasn’t been kidnapped she just…fell…through a glass orb. Dan might be even less of a believer than Chloe herself. Not that it matters, because Pierce being there, being angry at Lucifer and Chloe being there, means he knows something. He could be involved, which would mean he might try to save his own ass.

Chloe grips the edge of the tub.

No, Marcus wouldn’t hurt her. They’ve been…friendly lately. Not dating. Just…hanging out on occasion. They haven’t so much as touched. But still, he wouldn’t do something like that.

Or maybe Lucifer is right and Pierce only shows one side of himself.

She takes a deep breath. 

She needs to relax.

Chloe spends the rest of her bath using a small bar of soap to clean her skin, her hair, and her underwear. The soap isn’t so much a bar, but a lump, but it smells good and becoming clean feels so good. She washes away the last day. Riding the horse. Drinking the terrible ale. The man from last night. She cleanses herself, dunking down into the water and blowing bubbles to the surface. 

The men brought a towel as well, but it’s nothing like a terry cloth towel—or even a cheap hotel towel. It’s not very absorbent, but it’s better than nothing. 

She attempts to redress in her clothes from yesterday, but she finds she needs the corset. The dress doesn’t fit without it. Chloe sits down on the edge of the bed in her shift, resigned to waiting on Lucifer. Maybe she’ll just never leave this room today, like Rapunzel trapped at the top of her tower. She lies back to stare at the ceiling.

Over an hour later, a knock at the door.

Lucifer doesn’t break in but waits on her.

“Hey.”

“Detective,” he says, still an edge to his voice. His eyes glance to the tub. She shuts the door.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

“You needn’t apologize, Detective.” Lucifer turns to her, his hands in his pockets. “I’ve only told you the truth in the past, but I understand you don’t believe me. Can’t. But since we’re here, I’d like to imagine you’d be more open to things you don’t understand.”

She nods. “I am.”

Lucifer sighs. He shifts on his feet. He almost seems…anxious. 

“What’s wrong?”

He chuckles. “I shouldn’t assume I can get anything past you, Detective. I’ve made a decision.”

“Okay…” She subconsciously sits down in her wingback chair.

“I’m going to show you who I am.”

Chloe tries to push aside what that might mean. She tries just to believe his word. So, she nods.

“If you’d like to get dressed”—he grins, almost back to himself—“I think we have somewhere to be.”

She eyes him. “Where?”

“Do you trust me, Chloe?”

“Yes.”

“Then you dress, I’ll—”

“I need help with my corset.”

Lucifer’s eyes flicker to the corset on the bed. He grins, smooth and tempting. “Ah, well, this is my every fantasy,” he teases, and just like that, he’s Lucifer. She shoots daggers at him. “Come on, Detective. No need to get all huffy. Allow me to assist you. I’ll behave.”

So Chloe stands and meets him on the other side of the bed. She wraps the corset around her middle and feels Lucifer taking the strings between his fingers. She tries to remember to breathe normally, but his proximity makes that difficult. She imagines all the strings Lucifer has tied with his hands, but she doesn’t want to be a statistic with him. None of this is sexual. He’s helping her out. Friendly. Friendly friends doing friend things.

He tightens the corset starting at the top. “How’s that?” he asks.

“Better.”

He tightens down her spine, each pull dragging her back. He’s silent. She’s silent. 

Once the corset it tight, he doesn’t hesitate before holding her dress above her and helping her into it. The material flutters down like confetti, snuggling along her curves. The dress is soft blue and fits her perfectly now. She smooths her hands over her stomach while Lucifer buttons her. Chloe snaps at the hair tie still around her wrist. She’s not sure how Mrs. Denton did her hair yesterday and she really doesn’t want to waste time fixing her hair, so she simply ties it back in a bun. Once Lucifer reaches the last button, he steps in front of her.

“Hm.”

“What?”

She runs her hands along her hips.

“From the neck up you look like my Detective, but from below…it’s oddly confusing.”

_My_ Detective.

“Imagine how I feel.”

Lucifer nods. “I can only.”

The two of them leave the comforts of their room and step into the warm afternoon sun. To the west, storm clouds billow, a threat of rain, maybe a storm. Chloe wonders how people of the time plan for inclement weather when they have no warning, but that’s it, isn’t it? You can’t plan. She does notice the market stalls are packing up and people are making their way inside. She wonders how far out the storm might be.

Lucifer holds her arm tucked in against his body. He doesn’t say much, thoughtful, which is unnerving. She likes it better when he’s chatting her ear off.

She doesn’t ask where they’re headed. They walk towards where they entered the town a day ago, strolling along the path where they rode the horse. It wasn’t far. “This morning,” Lucifer begins, “I returned to where we initially landed. Same time, same place, hoping it might trigger something.”

“And since we’re still here…”

“Right. Nothing of consequence. I’m wondering if you might feel something, so I’d like to stop by before we head out of town.”

“Do you know where we’re going?”

“Not yet. I’d like a city name first. We have two more nights at the inn. After that, I think we should go.”

“Have you decided how we can earn money?”

“Yes. And actually, I did a little work this morning.” He reaches into his pocket and produces ten shillings.

“Holy shit.”

“Yes.”

“Did you steal them?” She’s not judging, simply curious.

Lucifer repockets the coins. “No. I returned to my old ways.” He flashes a grin. “I did a few favors. It’s not easy, being so out of my element, but I managed a few. I’d like to repay our good farm hand,” he nods to the stables along the way where they stole yesterday, “but it should be sustainable enough for us to make it for some time.”

She nods. “I have to say, I don’t want to _have_ to make it for ‘some time.’”

“Me neither, Detective.”

“Should I ask what these favors are?”

“Best not. It’s above the board though.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“Mostly,” he admits.

They walk towards the stone house. Chloe waits at the bottom of the hill while Lucifer covers the incline in a dozen or so graceful steps. He’s disappeared around the corner and then returning to her already. He holds his head high and she realizes that he wasn’t lying; he didn’t want to steal, but he will do what’s necessary. She’s just happy that they have a solution for money and she doesn’t plan to ask many questions.

She and Lucifer attempt the next hill. Her ankle hasn’t bothered her since early yesterday. She’s aware of it now, but it doesn’t hurt. They walk down the other side of the hill towards the stream. Lucifer stands and waits. Chloe looks at him.

“What’s supposed to happen?”

He shrugs. “Feel anything?”

“No.”

“I figure it’d be too good to be true.” He motions to the beginning of the hill. “Let’s sit. Perhaps the feeling needs to…brew.”

She laughs a little at his choice of words but sits down anyway. Lucifer, on the other hand, stands. In the distance, she hears the unmistakable sound of thunder. The clouds to the west have been moving faster than she’d expected and now they’re baring down on them. “I’m not sure how long we can stay.”

“I’ll protect you.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “You can’t protect me from lightning, Lucifer.”

“True, but I can get you back quickly.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

She looks away from him, pulling her knees to her chest and trying to find some kind of _feeling_. But she’s not even sure what to look for. With the orb, it was right there, glowing, almost pulsing. But there’s nothing of the sort here in the middle of the woods, in the middle of nowhere. They’re not even sure this spot has any ties to getting back. It could just be random. They know so little.

The rumbling builds to a crack of sound. Chloe jumps.

“I think we should go.”

“Yes, Detective.”

“I think—”

_Woosh._

Chloe turns to Lucifer and sees two white wings framing his lithe torso.

“What. The. Fu—” She trails off.

Lucifer smiles softly. “I always tell the truth, Detective.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh. Bet you didn't see that coming so quickly!


End file.
